One such group, a dozen knights, rode slightly ahead of them on the narrow highway that ran along the ridge top, with yet more close behind, all summoned to attend upon their liege lord. King Henry of the Franks, was coming downriver from Paris in all his majesty, his purpose to confer knighthood on his vassal, William, the adolescent Duke of Normandy, this on the occasion of his fifteenth birthday.
‘Roger,’ Tancred barked to his youngest and favourite child. ‘Do me the honour of not growing up to be like this one, who, by his manner, is bound to be a changeling.’
Such a statement was nonsense, of course: you only had to see Robert and Tancred together to know that the old fellow, for all his hair was white, his frame somewhat shrunk, with a face lined and craggy, was the sire of this sturdy, tetchy giant. Indeed that was where the constant rubbing up against each other came from: they were too alike.
From a mere ten-year-old, the response was loud and firm. ‘I will match his height and valour, Father, if not his conduct.’
‘Don’t be too keen on the loftiness, lad. There comes a point where it clearly affects the brain.’
‘Then I must have more sense than anyone else in the family,’ insisted Serlo, who, though a year older than Robert and no dwarf, was nowhere near the size of his half-brother; few men were.
‘Are you going to block the path, or move your fat arses on their way?’
The irate voice came from the party immediately behind them, half a dozen mounted men still in amongst the trees, and the reaction was telling. Tancred half-turned to request patience, his face showing no rancour, but in the time he had done that Robert had his sword out from its scabbard, and was hauling on his reins to turn his horse, bellowing as he pushed it through his brothers, as well as the packhorses on which rested the family possessions, back into the woods, demanding to know who dared speak so.
Being family, and with Robert urging his mount to the rear, Serlo did likewise and the remaining two de Hautevilles old enough to bear arms, Aubrey and Humbert, had their weapons out too; even Roger was quick to brandish his knife. The men behind were sharp to the defence, so that in seconds the two groups were ready to do battle. All his sons stopped moving when Tancred bellowed for them to desist.
‘What are you, barbarians? Would you have us branded louts before we even see our duke?’
‘By your manner, sir, I mark you as that very thing.’
‘Stand, Robert, I command you!’
That was an instruction given just in time: if Tancred had one son who would not stand even a hint of an insult to the family name, it was Robert. Jovial most of the time, with a huge laugh, a mischievous wit and a tendency to backslap painfully, he was also touchy in the extreme, that made more dangerous by a fighting ability formidable even in a family of high martial achievement. Now it was Tancred’s turn to bring around the head of his horse and move to confront the complainant, a large fellow in a green and blue surcoat, his head adorned with a plumed bonnet. His voice, when he spoke, was icy cold.
‘I was about to beg your indulgence for delaying your passage, to desire you to show a little patience, but that I now regret. You will withdraw the words just used, or what you can see of the castle of Moulineaux will be your last as a man on two legs. You will, I promise, be carried to meet your liege lord and so will the men who accompany you.’
‘I request only that you spur your mounts and clear a passage. Should you fail to do so I will be obliged to compel you.’
‘We await the attempt,’ growled Robert.
Tancred matched that growl, but he was still an old soldier, who knew that to contest with this fellow and those he led in such a confined space, on the very edge of a forest, would not be wise: much better to be out in the open where he trusted the ability of his sons, as well as his own, to redress any imbalance in numbers.
‘We shall ride out onto yonder field, sir, but we will still be in your path. Without an expression of contrition we will stay there.’
‘To be swept aside, I do assure you.’
‘Roger, stay out of this,’ Tancred insisted, which produced, as it would in any proud boy of his age, a glum look. ‘Look to the pack animals.’
Chagrined as he was, he obeyed a father he loved and respected, taking from his brothers the required reins and riding out onto the open ground, but away from the direct route that led to the gates of Moulineaux, which lay on the Rouen side of the castle.
The others required no instruction: having grown to manhood at a time of much turmoil in Normandy, such encounters were, if not commonplace, frequent enough to ensure they had no fear or ignorance of what was about to occur. Had this fellow known the nature of whom he was up against, he might have shown more tolerance, for the name of de Hauteville, in the part of the world in which they lived, was one of which men who knew it were cautious. It had been that way for many years now, with each of Tancred’s twelve sons showing, as they came to manhood, remarkable prowess in battle.
‘Perhaps you should stand aside as well, Father,’ sneered Robert. ‘Given your years.’
‘I’ll give you the back of my hand, boy.’
That made Robert smile as, like all of his party, he put on his conical metal helmet; nothing pleased him more than getting under old Tancred’s skin.
The other party had not been idle: they emerged from the forest ready to fight, the fellow in the surcoat now similarly helmeted, and concentrating on what was about to happen, neither party paid much attention to the approaching rider, a fellow with a hawk on his right hand, that is till he rode between them, addressing Tancred first and loudly, as he removed his own floppy cap.
‘I bid you good day, Uncle, and I observe that years have not dimmed your quick-tempered nature.’
‘Montbray!’ Tancred exclaimed, what could be seen of that craggy face on either side of his nose guard breaking into a huge grin.
‘The same…and how, my cousins, do I find you?’
‘Too occupied at the moment for pleasantries,’ Serlo replied, ‘though happy to see you, Geoffrey.’
The wings of the hawk fluttered and Geoffrey of Montbray turned to face the men lined up to fight his cousins, moving the hawk aside so that they could see he was wearing a surcoat with a clerical device. ‘Can I, sir, enquire after your name?’
‘Only after you give me your own.’
The response to that came with a slight bow. ‘Geoffrey of Montbray, Almoner of Rouen Cathedral.’
‘A priest?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can join with us, Geoffrey,’ cried Robert. ‘I recall you were good with a weapon.’
Geoffrey replied loudly, but over his shoulder. His gaze was still fixed on the fellow with the green and blue surcoat. ‘Can I not now be a man of peace, Robert?’
‘I am Count Hugo de Lesseves.’
‘Then, Count Hugo, I request that you put up your weapons.’
‘You are clearly known to these ruffians behind you. It would be best if you requested they do so first.’
‘Uncle, sheath your swords.’
‘Geoffrey-’
The voice, no longer friendly, cut off any protest. ‘That is a demand, Uncle, and one that will be enforced by Duke William’s own knights, who are too numerous even for the de Hautevilles. No weapon is to be drawn on this occasion by anyone, on pain of the most stringent punishments, and that applies to Count Hugo here as much as to you.’
The response was not immediate; it could not be in a land where men were so conscious of their honour, and as they complied, slowly sheathing their swords, Geoffrey of Montbray hoped perhaps they would see the wisdom of the instruction: with so many fighting men, and touchy creatures at that, gathered in one place, the chances of brawls and worse was too high to leave to fate. Few great magnates gathered their vassals together in one place for that very reason, outside a call to partake in war.
‘Now, Uncle, I will lead you to the castle, where you will soon be given opportunity to present yourselves to your suzerain. For accommodation, I am happy to say that I have an apartment of my own which you are invited to share, and stabling space for your horses.’